


and he was gone

by hatmouse



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: (though thats only after a few chapters), Amnesia, Blind Character, Blood, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Murder, Tiefling, sorry buddy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 08:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17117819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hatmouse/pseuds/hatmouse
Summary: He became Trying instead, because that was all he could do. Hold his head up, smile wide, and try.Try, try, try, until the day he died.--drabbles based off of my d&d character, a tiefling shadow sorcerer named Trying. which is a valid tiefling name! ain't that great?





	1. dust

The house stood before Venikai, taller than it had ever appeared before the gray winter backdrop. A part of him felt intimidated by how daunting the place that used to be his home seemed all of the sudden, but it was immediately replaced with excitement as he ran to the door as fast as he could, stumbling up the steps that were slick with ice.

“Mama! Papa! I’m home! It’s me, I’m home!” He hollered at the top of his lungs, fumbling with the doorknob until it opened and the door swung open, greeting him to the familiar entrance way of his home.

It was silent.

“Mama?” He called out again from the doorway. “Papa? Are you there?”

The only response he received was the echoing of his own voice. He could feel tears threatening to spill, but he held them back, biting his lip as he kicked his boots off, lined them up neatly like his mother would tell him to, and began to search the home, calling out their names until his throat started to hurt.

The kitchen was bare. The fruit left on the table seemed to have gone rotten a long time ago, the table and chairs covered in a layer of dust. In a moment of distraction, he drew a sun in the dust with his finger. It didn’t cheer him up like he hoped it would, so he added a smiling face onto it, and tried smiling back. It helped, a little.

The living room was silent. It was in disarray, it had been like that the last time he had seen it as well, couches pushed aside and windows boarded up. Strange symbols drawn and faded. All his mother had told him was that it was to make him feel better. She had been right. He didn’t feel sick anymore, but now he felt a different kind of sick. It made him want to cry and it made his chest ache, and as he continued his search through the house, he slowly came to the realization that he was alone.

So he sat on the steps and waited. Maybe they were out shopping, or went to go see a play. They were too busy with work to clean up the living room or throw the rotten fruit away or sweep up the dust. His eyes caught a glimpse of his father’s favourite coat; big and darkly coloured and lined with soft looking fur. He never left the house without it. Venikai pretended he hadn’t seen it. They’d be home soon.

He reminded himself of this as he continued to sit there on the steps. Normally he couldn’t sit still for more that a few seconds, but something kept him planted on that step, his eyes focused on the door handle. They’ll be home any minute, he told himself as a day passed without him moving. His stomach had stopped growling at this point, and he found himself nodding off, but he shook himself awake, convinced that they would walk through the door a minute later and he’d miss them if he went to sleep. Before you know it, he shakily assured himself as the second day passed as well.

On the third morning, he came to a realization.

Venikai was alone. And his parents weren’t coming home. When his mother had said goodbye, it wasn’t like when she used to tuck him in and say it, because he’d always see her the next morning. It had been a different kind of goodbye. The kind with no future of another hello.

And he cried. He wailed and sobbed and yelled until he was empty and he had nothing left in him, clutching his mother’s locket to his chest, holding it close as though the tiny portrait of his parents within it could have the same amount of warmth that the real ones had. But the pendant was cold, and so was he, even as he wrapped himself in his father’s huge fur-lined coat, he was so cold and there was no one there to hold him and make him warm again.

He left, eventually. Nibbling on crackers he had found in the pantry, head aching, heart aching. He walked through the doors and carefully stepped down the icy stairs. He looked back at the empty house, muted by the winter dreariness, and devoid of the warmth it had once been full of.

Now it was cold. And with an empty feeling in his chest, Venikai turned away.

And Venikai was gone.


	2. blood

There was blood everywhere, the sound of the man’s dying scream still echoing in the hall that he was now alone in, and the silence of the space made his heartbeat sound like thunder in his ears.

The man had been torn to shreds, blood splattered on the wall and floor. He felt sick, nausea building in his stomach and disagreeing with his last meal. The newly formed bruise on his cheek began to sting, but he felt frozen as he gazed upon the scene before him, and the pain was easy to ignore.

His ears were ringing now. The room began to spin, but he could barely make out the shapes of people up ahead, investigating the sound of a scream that had been cut off so suddenly. Through the ringing he could hear horrified exclamations, frightened screaming from the other children as they were also subjected to the scene. Someone was talking to him, one of the other caretakers. Venikai could barely focus on her face as she stood a distance away, but he could see the fear in her eyes.

“Venikai, what happened?” She asked, her tone on the edge of hysteria, shaking in a way that scared him too, because adults weren’t supposed to be scared like that.

He didn’t know. He wanted to tell her that he didn’t know, something went wrong, something in him had killed the man, but he just didn’t know what or why or how or anything. He wanted to tell her, but his mouth wouldn’t form words.

There was nothing he could say. So instead he turned and ran, ran as fast as his legs could carry him, out of the hall, through the doors, through the gates, away, far away from the place that had been his home for the past five years.

And Venikai was gone.


	3. truth

He became numb to the feeling of blood at his feet and on his hands for the sake of the answers that they sought. Bitterness in his heart grew towards the world that continued to lie to them. Days were spent searching through old newspapers, the wall gradually becoming completely covered with layers of inconsistencies in the media reports, names and faces, connected by a string.

No longer was he the scared, confused child who was ignorant of the schemes that made him so alone in this world. No longer was he passive and meek towards higher powers. No longer was he Venikai, because Venikai was gone.

And thus, he became Truth.


	4. trying

He awoke with a heaving gasp, but found himself choking on smoke instead of air, coughing and heaving as he tried to find a way to breath. Everything hurt, a deep searing pain as though the blood in his veins had been replaced with acid, burning and agonizing. Through the thundering heartbeat in his ears, he could make out the sounds of fire crackling and crashing, but despite his eyes being open, all he could see was darkness. Panic rose in his chest, complementing the pain in an agonizing manner, as he realized he couldn’t see, the world around him was gone, everything felt loud and everything hurt, and he didn’t even know where he was-

Through his rising anxiety he could hear something above him creak, and he barely had time to scramble backwards as a piece of something fell before him. He needed to get out, but where? He stumbled to his feet, taking a shaky step to the side, then another, another, tried to go for a fourth but his body screamed in protest and he fell to the ground, a startled yelp leaving his mouth as his face connected with something sharp. Glass? He couldn’t tell, but when he raised a hand to his face, he could feel blood start to well up from the jagged cut that was gradually becoming more painful. He tried to stumble back to his feet, but quickly found that he didn’t have the strength to do so as his legs gave out from beneath him, leaving him heaving on the ground. The pain was excruciating, worse than anything he ever felt, and the sounds of the world burning around him was replacing with a high pitches ringing in his ears as his consciousness faded.

He couldn’t remember the truth that he sought, when he had awoken. His drive to find it and the anger he held in his heart was absent, vanished from his memory like a black hole in his mind.

And just as Venikai had vanished, Truth was gone as well.

He became Trying instead, because that was all he could do. Hold his head up, smile wide, and try.

Try, try, try, until the day he died.


	5. alone

Trying ran. Mantis was deeply focused on foraging for whatever he had set out to find, and as soon as the distance between them was enough, he took a step back. Mantis would feel bad after this, he knew, but it would be for the best. Another step. It would save Mantis the grief of later, it would save all of them the grief. Then another. It was going to be worth it, he told himself. And then he ran, narrowly dodging any trees before him, and once he was a good distance away, unfurled his wings and shot through the trees into the sky above. He flew as fast as he could, wincing as branches scratched his skin when he flew too close to the trees. His chest felt tight, constricting and suffocating as he tried to breath and it just came out as a sob. But he kept flying, as far as he could, far away from Mom or Ruby or Mantis or anybody who would miss him.

Eventually his wings began to feel weak in his exhaustion, and despite his efforts to keep pushing himself forward, he found himself plummeting down through the trees, tumbling down to the ground below. His bones ached and the many new scratches that had appeared on his body stung, but as he heaved for breath a choking noise hitched his attempt and he found himself leaning against the nearest tree he could feel, wings curled around himself as he struggled to breath, fingers clutching his chest. His head swam with emotions he could barely even name, but they were overwhelming and heavy and weighed on his chest and he let his head hit the back of the tree as he simply let out a long, broken sob. Tears ran down his face, most likely mixing with the blood and dirt that had collected on his skin, and he made no attempt to wipe them away.

He was alone now. It was what he wanted. He had told Ruby, at least; he wasn’t something meant to last long. He wasn’t meant to be a permanent part of anyone’s life. Trying wasn’t meant for love, and he wasn’t supposed to feel it towards others. He didn’t want to feel, but he did, and they liked him too. And Mom liked him too, cared for him more than he could comprehend.

He couldn’t stay with them. No matter how much he wanted to. Any day could be his last and the pain had been getting worse, and he didn’t know what would happen if he was ever truly gone. He had accepted being gone a long time ago, but Mom was so upset about him being gone for six months, what would she do if he was gone forever? She’d be inconsolable; he couldn’t go back to her, he couldn’t make her love him and create more memories that would only make her more upset in his absence. It wasn’t fair to her.

And Ruby; she had cried about her losses, how everyone she loved either died or left her. Despite her words the previous night, Trying couldn’t help but disagree; why bother having something in your life to dedicate yourself to, only for it to leave so soon? He was too fleeting for love. He thought back on the kiss and his chest heaved again as he cried. He used to have someone like that, who would kiss him like that. He couldn’t return to them. They’d be devastated, learning what Trying had become, what he had resigned himself to.

And Mantis; just a day of knowing him and Trying already found himself attached to the man. He had already sworn to protect Trying, and that seemed pointless to him. Like a turtle willing to die for a fruit fly. The fruit fly would be dead by tomorrow anyways, why would such a long lived creature bother throwing away their life for something that was going to be present for not even a fraction of a meaningful portion of their life?

It wasn’t fair. None of it. It wasn’t fair to the others to become something important in their lives only to leave them so soon after. It wasn’t fair that his fear of dying had begun creeping up on him again after so long of accepting it as inevitable. It wasn’t fair that he was alone again, with only himself to blame, always running from his problems like the child he couldn’t remember being.

It wasn’t fair, and all he could do about it was wail into empty air and cry as his brain, muddled with emotion, mourned the fact that he couldn’t even go to anyone to cry into their shoulder.

He was alone, and he chose this.

He was alone and it was because he wanted to be, but that didn’t make it feel any better.


End file.
